


melt

by calciseptine



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Candy, Halloween, M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/calciseptine
Summary: "Told ya that street was a goldmine," Stan brags. "Sugar Babies, Razzles, Boston Baked Beans, Bit-o'-Honey—ugh, is that a Black Jack?"





	melt

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the [stancest halloween event 2018](https://a-stancest-halloween.tumblr.com/post/177023408728/this-is-a-two-month-long-event-and-has-four), prompt i: _traditional: candy flavored kisses_. please heed the underage warning! stan and ford are only thirteen in this story. there is no reference to anything beyond kissing, but if that makes you uncomfortable, you've been warned.

  
Thirteen is an age that borders the edge of being too old to trick-or-treat. Ford knows it. Stan knows it. Yet here they are, draped in old bedsheets with eye holes cut out, going from door to door and filling their plastic buckets with candy. Some of adults pause when they hear Stan's cracking voice. They squint at his fabric-covered face with various degrees of mistrust, but none of them withhold the candy they dole out to the other children.

It does not take long before their buckets are overflowing.

"Told ya that street was a goldmine," Stan brags when they call it a night. They take off their sheets when the residential streets turn commercial, shoving the ruined fabric into a sticky trash can by the boardwalk. Stan's short hair sticks up in angles; Ford is sure his is no better. "Sugar Babies, Razzles, Boston Baked Beans, Bit-o'-Honey—ugh, is that a Black Jack?"

The walk to the beach isn't long. Twenty minutes, maybe. Stan doesn't wait though. He picks at his spoils and leaves a trail of candy wrappers behind him. Ford is more restrained, leaving his bucket alone, but he doesn't say no when Stan offers him a tiny box of Junior Mints. He pops them in his mouth one by one, letting them melt slowly between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

"Didja bring the flashlight?" Stan asks when they reach the grotto.

"Of course," Ford responds. He reaches into his pocket—ignores a Swiss Army knife, a pack of mashed gum, a pen—and pulls out a tiny, red and white plastic flashlight. The light it emits is weak and the darkness around them is pervasive, but it's enough so they don't stumble as they make their way down to their moored boat.

Once aboard, Ford turns on the old kerosene lamp Stan pilfered from the attic, and hangs it from a large hook attached to the mast. Warm light stretches over the deck and spills onto the coarse sand and still black water. Stan disappears into the cabin to grab an old quilt, which he then spreads across the planks so they can sit down in relative comfort.

"Alright, Sixer," Stan says. "Let's see what we got!"

Together, Stan and Ford pour the contents of their buckets into a huge pile between them. It's tradition for them to sort their candy like this. Ford likes some things that Stan doesn't—like the Hot Tamales—while Stan like some things Ford doesn't—like Necco Wafers and Smarties. They divide the things they both like and make a pile of the things neither of them like. Stan steadily and indiscriminately consumes piece after piece while they sort: caramel creams and Mary Janes, peanut butter sticks and Goody bars and 100 Grands.

Stan will have a stomachache for a week. He'll eat his way through his candy, then sneak half of Ford's. Ford will get annoyed—Stan _always_ takes the last piece of chocolate—and he'll be annoyed for a day or two. Then Stan will do something unexpectedly sweet and Ford...

Ford will forgive him. He always does.

But for now, Ford unwraps an Almond Joy and bites into it. Unlike Stan, his sweet tooth isn't vicious, and there's only so much he can eat before his body rebels. He has to choose his candy carefully to optimize his post trick-or-treating enjoyment.

"Y'know it's not a science, right?" Stan teases as Ford carefully unwraps a peppermint patty.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to actually taste the candy." Ford watches as Stan pops an Tootsie Roll into his mouth and chomps it apart, overemphasizing the action. Ford wrinkles his nose. "Gross."

"It's just candy, Sixer."

"Still gross."

Stan rolls his eyes but doesn't argue further. He consumes three more pieces of candy by the time Ford finishes his peppermint patty. Torn wrappers accumulate by his knee. Ford contemplates what he wants to eat next when Stan says,

"Wanna try something?"

Ford looks up from his pile. Stan has a small bar of plain Hershey's chocolate in his hand and a ruddy red in his cheeks.

"Try what?" Ford asks, curious.

Stan doesn't explain further. Instead, he stands, steps over their Halloween spoils, then sits back down next to Ford. His thighs bracket Ford's body. He is very close. Ford feels his face heat up until he is as red as Stan.

"I heard some guys talkin' bout kissin'," Stan says. "With candy."

"Oh." Ford's eyes flicker down to the piece of chocolate in Stan's palm. "How do we...?"

Stan once more falls silent. He isn't good with words. He's better with action. Like how he unwraps the piece of candy; presses it to the seam of Ford's mouth; and pecks several kisses to Ford's lips. Ford is overly aware of the melting piece of chocolate behind his teeth and confused about what he needs to do. Does he keep it there? Does he swallow it?

"Sixer," Stan murmurs, and presses his tongue inside.

It's barely a kiss. It's uncoordinated and messy and Ford is embarrassed to feel spit leak from the corner of his mouth. Stan's tongue is clumsy; he's more focused on the chocolate in Ford's mouth than Ford. Ford's mouth is split wide. His jaw begins to ache. He fists his hands in Stan's sweater and—

Stan pulls away to chew and swallow. The low light of the kerosene softens his teenage imperfections—his oily skin and the acne on his cheeks—and makes his slick mouth shine. Heat grows in the pit of Ford's gut.

"Yeah?" Stan asks.

Ford glances at his candy. Several options stand out to him, and he weighs each temptation in his mind before plucking a soft caramel from the pile. The plastic cellophane crinkles beneath his fingers as he unwraps it.

"Caramel?"

"Yeah," Ford answers. "It'll last longer."

With that, Ford pops the candy in his mouth, and lets the sweetness and Stan overtake him.

.

**Author's Note:**

> ps - shout out to everyone in the stancest community, you guys are the absolute greatest


End file.
